Morning
by Ivory Novelist
Summary: Sherlock and John wake up together and share some loving moments.     Totally pointless, gratuitous schmoop. Asexual!Sherlock/Straight!John  platonic romance, established relationship .


A/N: Totally gratuitous schmoop. An excuse just to write something super love-dovey.

Asexual!Sherlock/Straight!John (platonic romance, established relationship)

* * *

><p><em>Morning<em>

* * *

><p>When John wakes, it is to Sherlock spooning him, breathing against his neck. Sherlock has his arm around him, hand light over John's heart. It reminds John that today is Saturday and Sherlock doesn't have a case, just solved the last one on Thursday evening. It must be late morning already; he's hardly ever awake before Sherlock, unless the detective sleeps in on days such as this. John doesn't move; he's too magnificently comfortable. He lies still on his side, staring at the bluish glow of light coming through the sheer window curtain. He basks in the feeling of Sherlock warm against him, breathing with him, holding him. John is the big spoon more often, which he likes, but he also adores trading places.<p>

John hears Sherlock's sharp intake of breath and feels him move a bit.

"John. Are you awake?"

"Mmm."

Sherlock stretches away without letting go, thumb stroking over John's heart. He slides back in close, nuzzling the back of John's neck and pressing himself snug against John. John closes his eyes and savors the feeling. He could spend all day in bed like this, cuddling Sherlock; he knows Sherlock could too, if he wasn't bound to get an itch for research or experimenting or at least the telly. Not to mention tea.

They're silent for a while, unmoving, eyes shut but not quite asleep.

"Sherlock," John says.

"Hmm."

"I love you."

Sherlock turns his face into John's neck, hiding in it, and squeezes him.

John has moments these days where he thinks about how nice it would be for Sherlock to quit crime solving and take up some new, totally innocuous profession. It's a selfish thought, motivated by John's increased protectiveness and anxiety over the possibility of Sherlock getting hurt or killed. He never mentions it, though—because he knows Sherlock's work makes him who he is. That's more important than John's peace of mind.

On mornings like this, however, it's difficult for him not to ask. He is so content, so soft with love for Sherlock, that the thought of anything happening to the other man could make John sick or weepy if he contemplated it long enough.

"I'll make breakfast," Sherlock says.

His thumb continues to move against John's heart.

"Not yet," says John.

Sherlock doesn't answer and doesn't move.

After a few minutes, John sits up and turns around to face him. Sherlock lies on his back and looks up at him. John stretches out on his left side, propped up on his elbow, body touching Sherlock's. He slides his hand up onto Sherlock's jaw, fingers disappearing in the dark curls, and he leans down to rest his forehead against Sherlock's.

"You're rather affectionate this morning," Sherlock says.

"Are you complaining?"

"Certainly not."

Sherlock hooks his hand over the back of John's shoulder. John kisses Sherlock's forehead, then his jaw briefly. He rests his face down in the curve of Sherlock's neck and Sherlock tilts his head against John's. John's body sinks down too, against Sherlock's, hand leaving Sherlock's hair and lying flat on his left breast. They can smell each other.

Eventually, Sherlock curls his own hand over the one John has pressed to him.

"I can't imagine it," he says.

"What's that?" John says, turning his head to the side and resting it on Sherlock's shoulder.

"How I lived thirty-four years of life without this. Without you."

John smiles. "You'll never live another minute without me."

Sherlock closes his eyes and swallows. John feels his chest hitch under their hands, doesn't know if it's Sherlock's heart or breath. John squeezes his hand a bit. Sherlock rolls onto his side, toward John, and they embrace, slotting together easily.

"The thought of you dying terrifies me," Sherlock whispers.

"I know," John says. He starts to rub Sherlock's back, up and down in long and steady strokes. "I can't lose you either."

Sherlock pushes his face into John shoulder.

"Relax," says John. "We're fine."

Sherlock doesn't say anything, and John rubs his back for a while, the two of them pressed close.

After a while, Sherlock pulls away a bit and takes John's face firmly in his hand, looking at him with intense blue eyes.

"I love you," he says.

They look at each other, heads on the same pillow, until Sherlock closes his eyes and tilts his face forward to touch brows with John. He holds John's face in his hand, and John cups his own hand around Sherlock's wrist.


End file.
